He Lies
by Mint Pizza Queen
Summary: Wilson doesn’t like it when his personal life isn’t so personal anymore. House/Cuddy/Wilson friendship. COMPLETED.


**Title:** He Lies  
**Fandom:** House, MD  
**Characters:** Lisa Cuddy, Greg House, James Wilson  
**Prompt:** 071. Broken  
**Word Count:** 2564  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Wilson doesn't like it when his personal life isn't so personal anymore.  
**Author's Notes:** Post Tritter. Because nobody likes him. (Apologies to those who do.) Brings out ideas from the third season, and primarily the best scene from the episode "Resignation". LOVE IT. Alas, no speed for you, Wilson. Rated for suicide talk and language. By language I mean let's throw in a few F bombs.

* * *

"Wilson is on antidepressants." 

Cuddy refused to look up from her task at hand and continued to scrawl vigorously on the paper in front of her. Maybe if she just ignored him, the creature that was currently nagging her would go away. Eventually.

"I asked him for how long, he refused to tell me."

She wasn't going to play his game. He was probably doing this just so that he could distract her, driving her to talk about Wilson, and maybe lose her concentration on her work just so he could get the thrill of seeing her flustered. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. That or he was bored. He was always bored. Then again, how bored could one person get to want to literally talk their boss to death about their best friend? Hey, wait; were House and Wilson even best friends? Were they even friends?

Suddenly, a dark yellow medicine bottle slammed onto her desk, startling her from her thoughts. She looked up and stared at the bold name typed neatly on the label.

**'Wilson, E. James'.**

She frowned, reaching for the bottle to observe it. House pulled himself back and sat down, making himself comfortable as she read over the label.

_'Richard H. Schwartz, Psy. D. Prescription: __**Fluoxetine**_

Prozac?

A number was listed, as well as an address.

It looked legit, but with House, anything was possible.

She placed the bottle into the top drawer of her desk, slamming it shut. "Well, seems like you're been busy snooping in other people's private affairs."

House scoffed, whirling his head. "Psh, he better not be having another affair. Who the hell is he having an affair on? Me?" He narrowed his eyes and stared down Cuddy critically. "You're not involved with him, are you? Is that why I've been stuck with more clinic hours lately? You taking all of Wilson's and piling them on me?"

She raised an eyebrow, and then made a shooing motion. "Come by later. We can talk about Wilson all you like then."

He glared at her, and then pointed at her viciously with his cane. "I'll be back. Don't you forget it." He hobbled out, leaving her behind at her desk

Cuddy laid her pen down and sighed, resting her chin warily on the palm of her hand. She stared at the door, waiting for the man to come barging back in any second. After what she deemed to be a good enough wait, she slowly pulled the drawer open and retrieved the bottle. Turning it slowly in her fingers, she bit her lip as she stared out of the windows in the office.

Finally, she grabbed the phone with her free hand and quickly dialed the number on the bottle, jumping to her feet as the dial tone filled her ears.

"Yes? Dr. Schwartz? This is Dr. Cuddy. I have a question about a prescription for a James Wilson."

---

"Why didn't you tell me you were depressed?"

Wilson groaned, tilting his head as he stared at the ceiling. "Oh god, why have you forsaken me?"

Cuddy extended her arm and dropped the dark yellow bottle onto the man's lap, watching as he jumped slightly and fumbled to grab it before it fell to the floor. "I'm not going to make a big deal about it, I was just wondering." She pulled a chair up beside his desk. "Why didn't you come talk to me? You know I would listen."

He frowned, giving her a puppy eyed expression of guilt. "I didn't know until as of recently."

"If you don't mind me prying, just--" She waved a hand as if it were going to find the words she was looking for. "How recent is recently?"

His face contorted into that of one that looked pained and nauseated. He slowly smacked his lips, taking a small breath before his eyes returned to looking at her directly. "Since Tritter."

Ah, it explains so much.

Detective Tritter--the uberly pissed off detective who was after House used everybody at the hospital as a tool to feed his need. Both of them did. House was stubborn and cocky, making sure nobody put him in front, and Tritter gratefully took all those thrown onto the platter and dissected them until there was nothing left but the chalk outline.

It was almost like Zeus versus his wife. Nobody was willing to admit they were wrong.

Tritter's presence was like a leech stuck on Wilson. The poor oncologist was hit the worst with the whirlwind--all because he was House's friend. Never mind the fact that House kept denying this fact, he had used Wilson, stole his prescription pad, and they both could have ended up in jail for quite a bit of time.

It was all thanks to Cuddy that they were saved. Wilson was eternally grateful, and showed it so by putting for his best effort to keep out of trouble (stay away from House) and keep his nose clean (do his homework and do the chores without asking).

He never realized that he wasn't really in the wrong in the first place, but his guilt for letting House get as bad as he was got the better of him, apparently.

Cuddy looked away as she let out a soft sigh. "Look, I know House is an ass--"

"It's not House." She jerked her head to look at the man questioningly only to find that he had spun his chair so his back was to her.

She pursed her lips. "Why would you--"

"I've--I haven't exactly been honest with myself, or you just now. I started taking the medication after _he_ left. I've known far longer."

"How long?" She hated prying, but if something was affecting one of the best men in her staff, she had the right to know. Especially if it could affect work--

--or House.

He made a noise that sounded like he was blowing off steam. "Psh, since--my second divorce? Maybe earlier? Probably when I got married the second time. Something wasn't right, and--I wasn't really sure what. I thought I was just scared of losing it again." He let out a bitter laugh. "I was right. It's why I'm still alone."

Cuddy did a double take. "You knew you were depressed for--for years? And you didn't do anything?"

Wilson turned his chair so he faced her, a perplexed expression on his face. "I figured I was only like this because I was friends with House."

She thought about that for a moment before nodding. "True, if I was friends with him, I'd be depressed too." She froze. "What do you mean was? Aren't you two--"

He shrugged. "I've been avoiding him and he hasn't come in to steal my lunch for a while, so I figured it was over. I didn't plan to say anything to him. I don't know how he'll react to me, and honestly," he pushed himself up from his chair and leveled a hard stare towards her. "I don't really want to know. Now is there anything else?"

Cuddy bit the inside of her cheek before she nodded. "Yes, how did House know you were depressed?"

Wilson raised an eyebrow and Cuddy continued.

"It was he who came to me. With the bottle of pills. I don't snoop in people's business, but when I call up a Dr. Schwartz who informed me that you confessed about several different episodes where you actually thought about doing the unthinkable, I think that House is a little on to something, you know?"

The oncologist was turning red in the face, and it wasn't from embarrassment. She let out an annoyed sigh. "I threatened to close down Schwartz, that's the only reason why he told me. He was very persistent about keeping it confidential, but the moment I said that I knew where he lived, he panicked."

Wilson shook his head and the anger look disappeared as a small smile flitted onto his lips. "I should've known."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," she assured. "It's quite common for oncologists to become depressed, but it's just as common for dean's too. Anybody and everybody will eventually be depressed, Wilson. Some sooner than others. Don't worry about it."

He scoffed. "House said the same thing--the nothing to be ashamed about part. He said it's about damn time that I was just as messed up as the rest of us. I figured I already was if I couldn't even have a lasting marriage."

"No, see, Jimmy, your problem there is you're too kind." A gruff voice called from the balcony. The door swung open and in hobbled House, cane poised, scowl etched onto his brow, wielding a large bag of Chinese. "You find a needy woman and try to fix her. When she's not needy anymore, you put her back out on the market and go try to find another broken model. You're not a mechanic."

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an airy breath as the crippled man approached the desk and dropped the bag onto it. The oncologist opened one eye and peeked at the object. "What's that?"

"Food."

"I'm not hungry," Wilson plucked the bag off the desk and stuffed it into House's arms as if it had grown a head. House raised an eyebrow and stared at the bag for a second only to drop it back onto the desk.

"You haven't eaten today, now sit down and stuff your face."

"I'm. Not. Hungry." The other man emphasized each with pause between each word to show his irritation.

"Yes. You. Are. Don't argue with me. I have a cane, I know how to use it." The prove his point, he swung it around and nearly clubbed Cuddy with it.

"Watch it," she barked. "How about both of you sit your asses down and eat? Or better yet, both of you sit down anyway. We need to talk."

"But moooom," House did his whine, which resulted in Wilson throwing him a dark glare. "Jimmy keeps dressing up my GI Joes with Barbie clothes. I keep telling him that Ken looks better in the pink skirt but he won't listen to me."

"Oh shut up," Wilson snapped before he sat down in his chair, crossing his fingers impatiently. "Can we get this over with? I'd rather not stay here any longer than I need to tonight."

"Finally realizing that working for Cuddy sucks?" House suggested helpfully as he dropped onto the man's couch and received a nasty scowl from both people.

"No, actually, I just realized how much work sucks when you go through the day without someone stealing your food, barging in during patient meetings, screwing up surgery, and just plain annoying me. I thought I'd enjoy it, but in actuality I got so used to it, I miss it. Instead, I have two pains in the ass nagging me, asking me why I'm ingesting Prozac, and why I kept it secret. Since you're both here, I'll tell you. It's none of your business." With that, he turned his chair so they both faced the back of it.

House rolled his eyes and muttered 'drama queen' under his breathe and was nearly elbowed in the head by Cuddy. She sent angry vibes towards him as she attempted to regain control of the situation. "Look, Wilson, I am only prying because I'm concerned. You know I wouldn't do it any other time if I didn't have a good reason."

"What's your reason now?"

She made an exasperated noise. "You admitted you wanted to end your life! How can I just let this slide? Wilson, that's serious. If you've been thinking that--"

"--for years, Cuddy, for _years_," he leaned back in his chair and practically leered. "And nobody knew. Amazing what people don't know when you keep quiet, isn't it? You should know, House." He looked over to the silent man before he straightened up, disappearing behind the back of the chair. "I'm done. You can leave."

Cuddy sighed for what seemed to be the billionth time that night. Quietly, she approached the exit only to realize House wasn't following. In fact, he was hovering over Wilson's desk.

He looked furious.

"You're an idiot."

Wilson's chair jerked slightly, but he refused to look back. House didn't apparently care for he continued.

"You really think I'm going to up and leave after hearing that, you're sadly mistaken. You've obviously got lots to say and I'm not leaving until I hear every bit of it."

"There's nothing to say."

"Bullshit," House slammed his cane onto the desk. "Say it to my face, Jimmy."

"Don't call me Jimmy."

"I'll call you whatever the hell I want. Right now I'm calling you an idiot. You think it is okay just to up and say 'Yeah, I thought about suicide. But that's okay because I never told anyone except for that nut job in Trenton'? You're wrong. There is no right in that at all."

"Oh, so you can?" Wilson snapped, spinning around so fast Cuddy was sure that he could've given himself whiplash. "You think it's all right then for me to stop by your place and find you lying in--in a pool of vomit because you fucking overdosed on those damn pills of yours? Oh hell no, just don't even fucking _go there_." He voice began to break and he turned around again, most likely in fear of breaking down in front of his boss and fellow comrade.

"Wilson, turn around before I come over there and deck you." He drummed his fingers impatiently on the handle of his cane. After a few seconds, just when it seemed like Wilson was going to keep ignoring him and take him up on his challenge, the man turned his chair around and stared at House.

House apparently approved of this and sat down in the chair Cuddy had been occupying. "All right. Now talk. Spill, just--" he waved his arms. "Just start running your mouth like you always do. I want to hear you speak. I want you to bitch, to moan and groan, to gripe. Call me an asshole, a dick, a bastard, just start talking, and don't stop until you turn blue in the face and pass out."

The oncologist snorted softly before he looked away. "I don't know where to start." His voice was soft, it was tired, and he looked exhausted.

"How about we bitch about House?" Cuddy sat down on the couch and smiled softly. "We know we could bitch about forever. If not, explain something--why miss House?" She shrugged, offering a comforting expression.

Wilson blew out a breath that tickled his bangs as he let his head slide back and hit the headrest of his seat. Finally, he looked up and rolled his shoulders. "I hope there's enough Chinese in there to feed three people for a few hours."

Cuddy rose from the couch and made her way over, dragging a spare chair over with her. She smiled and pulled out her cell phone, shutting it off as she tossed it onto the desk. "If not, I'm sure we can order delivery."

"Just to let you two know right now," House pointed out, "I'm not paying."


End file.
